An Unexpected Delivery
by cwgirlup
Summary: John gets an unexpected surprise....but it turns out to be just what he wants.


Title: An Unexpected Delivery

Author: Colleen

E-mail:

Categories: DRR, baby-fic

Rating: NC-17

Author's notes: at the end of the story

Summary: John gets an unexpected surprise...but it turns out

to be just what he wants.

Disclaimer: John Doggett and Monica Reyes belong to Robert Patrick and Annabeth Gish (and I suppose they belong to Chris Carter too, but he doesn't deserve them). Katie and JJ belong to me. I have no money, so there's really no point in suing me :)

An Unexpected Delivery

Monica Reyes drove slowly down the street, carefully negotiating the icy terrain. She was cold, tired, and at least an hour away from home. She shifted in her seat, attempting to relieve the backache that had been steadily increasing since that morning. The snowfall was getting worse by the minute, and Monica quickly came to the realization that she wouldn't be getting home that night. She sighed as she contemplated where to spend the night. After spending a week in Kentucky consulting on a case of apparent ritualistic murders with the local law enforcement, all she wanted to do was to soak in a hot bath, climb into her own bed, and sleep for two or three days. She peered through the swirling snow at the street sign ahead of her and realized that she was within minutes of Mulder and Scully's new house.

"Thank goodness. Dana won't mind me crashing there for the night," Monica thought to herself.

After a few moments, Monica pulled into the driveway and sighed with relief as she turned off the ignition. Moving cautiously through the ice and snow to the back of the car, she opened the trunk, threw a few essentials from her suitcase into a small travel bag, and made her way to the front door. Excited barking greeted her knock and footsteps approached the door. When the door swung open, Monica stood frozen in place, staring at the figure before her. After what seemed like hours, but was really only seconds, she pulled herself together enough to stammer, "J - John? What are you doing here?"

Monica was overcome with memories, both good and bad, of the man in front of her. In particular, she remembered their first, and last, night together. They had been dating for a few months, sharing dinner together most nights, taking in an occasional movie, and just generally enjoying each others company. That evening found them at Monica's apartment, relaxing in the glow of the television screen. John sat on the floor in front of the couch, Monica between his legs, her back flush against his chest. She rotated her neck from side to side, attempting to relieve the kinks that had built up over the course of the day. John noticed her discomfort and brought his hands to her shoulders, trying to massage away the pain. After a few moments, it became apparent that the awkwardness of their position would not allow for an effective massage.

John reached around and retrieved a fluffy blanket off the couch, then instructed Monica to remove her shirt while he spread the blanket on the floor. She lay on her stomach, pillowing her head on her arms while John straddled her lower back on his knees and began massaging the base of her neck. His strong fingers kneaded her skin, skillfully unraveling the knots of tension he found there. Monica's slight moans and her deep, relaxed breathing told him that she was enjoying his ministrations. His hands left her shoulders and caressed the length of her back, pausing to flick open the back strap of her bra and stopping at the waistband of her jeans. John turned his attentions to her arms, running his hands slowly from her forearms to her shoulders, enjoying the smooth feel of her skin. He reluctantly ended the massage and sat back on his heels, admiring the expanse of bare flesh before him. She smelled faintly of lavender and something else that he couldn't quite identify - an enticing scent that was uniquely Monica. John couldn't resist the urge to lean down and kiss the soft flesh at the base of her neck. He smiled at the way her skin erupted into gooseflesh at the touch of his lips and continued to kiss and nip along her neck and shoulders. After a few moments, he put his lips to her ear and whispered, "Turn over."

Monica rolled onto her back and stretched her arms above her head. Her eyes locked with John's, and she shuddered at the raw need she saw in his gaze. He lowered his head and met her lips with his, trying to convey in his kiss what he could not bring himself to say. He shifted his hips, allowing her to feel his arousal, then raised his head and looked into her eyes.

"I want you, Mon, but I don't want to rush you into anything. Are you ready for this?"

A smile split her face as she answered. "I'm more than ready, John. Make love with me."

Monica's eyes drifted shut as John fastened his lips onto her neck and began to move down her body until he felt her tugging at his hair. He raised his head and smiled down at her. She returned his smile and said, "You're overdressed, John." She pulled his black T-shirt out of his jeans and pushed it up and over his head. His upper body was toned from hours in the FBI gym and sparsely covered with light brown hair. They separated long enough to finish undressing, pausing long enough to exchange a kiss that simply couldn't wait. Monica took John's hand and led him to the bedroom. She eased him down into a sitting position and straddled his lap, pulling him into a kiss that that made his blood race. They had shared many different kisses over the past few months, but this one stood out because it marked the beginning of a new phase in their relationship. They broke apart when their lungs began protesting the lack of oxygen, and John stood up, taking Monica with him. He stepped away from her and drank in the sight befor him. After a few moments, Monica broke the silence by asking in a hesitant voice, "What's wrong, John?"

He answered slowly, raking his gaze over her form before meeting her eyes. "Nothing's wrong, Mon. You're just so beautiful," he murmured as he pushed her down onto the bed and stretched out beside her. She stroked his lower legs with her toes as his mouth fastened onto her neck, creating a mark that would force her to wear high collars for the next few days. She arched her hips, a silent plea for him to relieve the sweet ache she felt building inside.

"John," she gasped, tugging at his arms. He ignored her pleas, continuing to feast on her soft flesh. "John," she said again, more forcibly this time. After another moment, he raised his head to look at her. "I want you inside me," she said. "Now."

He grinned at her. "Well, ma'am, I aim to please." She drew his head down for a long, deep kiss - their tongues imitating the actions of their lower bodies They both groaned at the feeling of this first intimate contact and locked eyes as they rocked to completion.

When John could move again, he rolled onto his back and attempted to halt his rapid breathing. He opened his eyes a moment later to find Monica propped up on her elbow, smiling down at him. He smiled back at her, and they kissed, long and slow and sweet. When their kiss ended, Monica snuggled down into his embrace as he tucked her fluffy comforter around them, and they sank into a sated, post-coital sleep.

Monica awoke hours later to find sunlight streaming through the window and an empty space where John had slept the night before. She yawned and stretched, grinning to herself as the events of the night before came back to her. Climbing out of bed, she padded into the kitchen calling John's name, but received only silence as a response. She opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of orange juice. With juice in hand, she turned to walk into the living room when she spotted an envelope bearing her name propped up on the table. She picked up the envelope with a strange sense of dread and withdrew the folded paper inside. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed into a chair as she read.

"Dear Monica,

I'm sorry. I can't begin to describe how much I despise myself for taking the coward's way out like this, but I am a coward. As much as I want to, I can't stay. I realized last night that I've fallen in love with you, and I can't do that. I can't do that to you, Mon. I've failed every person I've ever loved, and I refuse to do the same to you. You are so full of life, and if I stay here you will lose that energy and spark. You will be mired down by my life, and I can't let that happen. This is for the best, Monica. Trust me on this. I'll never forget you and what we have shared. Please remember that I love you.

John"

That was the last she heard from John. He had handed in a request for re-assignment and no one knew where he had gone. She spent the following days and weeks trying to find him, but he had gone to great lengths to conceal his whereabouts, and her efforts were all in vain. Within a matter of weeks, she discovered that John had left more than his friends and loved ones behind. At first, she attributed the nausea and fatigue to the amount of stress she was feeling, but when she realized that her calendar contained no little red stars for the previous six weeks, she gathered her nerve and bought a home pregnancy test. As she perched on the edge of the bathtub and watched the two blue lines appear in the window of the test stick, she began to laugh and cry at the same time. She couldn't help thinking how ironic it was that she had everything she wanted - a job she loved, good friends, and a baby on the way - and the man she most wanted to share it with had disappeared from her life.

A sharp bark jerked her out of her memories. The small Jack Russell Terrier at her feet pranced and wagged his stubby tail in expectation of the treat she always brought him. Mechanically, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a few of the jerky bits she kept for him. He snapped them from the air as she tossed them and sat at her feet. John's voice broke into her trance-like state.

"Mulder and Scully asked me to dog-sit for Moby while they took William to visit her mother. Why are you here, Monica?"

Monica stared at him for another few seconds before answering. "The storm...the storm is too bad to keep driving in. I was going to ask Dana if I could stay here tonight."

John stepped back and waved her through the front door. Monica stepped into the foyer and placed her bag on the floor while John closed the door behind her. "I didn't think I'd see you again, John. How long are you in town for?"

"Actually, I've been re-assigned to the X-Files. I've been back for a few days now."

Monica finally gave in to the urge she had been fighting and looked into his eyes. The look of loneliness she saw there mirrored her own. "Why, John? Why now? After all these months...why did you come back?" She turned away from him as she felt tears fill her eyes, and she had the fleeting thought that she was glad her oversized winter coat kept her condition from being immediately obvious.

John could feel each individual heartbeat in the silence that followed. He had imagined this moment a hundred different ways - the moment when he would be reunited with Monica - but he had never imagined it like this. For better or worse, the time had come to tell her what was in his heart.

"You, Monica. I came back for you. I spent every day of the past eight months missing you, wondering how you were, if you were thinking of me, if you could ever forgive me for leaving the way I did. I was scared, Mon. I know that's no excuse, but it's the only one I have. I woke up that night and looked at you, sleeping so peacefully, and it struck me how completely and totally I had fallen for you. I was so happy - and then the fear hit. Just overwhelming terror, rising up and threatening to choke me. Telling me that I was going to ruin your life, just the way I ruined Barbara's life. That I would fail to keep you safe, just like I failed Luke. So I ran. I panicked, and I ran, and I have spent eight months regretting that. I almost called you a thousand times, Monica, but I just couldn't get past my fear. The urge to be with you finally got to be too much to ignore though, and I came home to see if I could make things right - if it's not too late."

Monica felt as if she was being pulled in two different directions. Her head was telling her to leave - to let him suffer the way she had suffered. Her heart was telling her to take him into her arms as she had wanted to do for months and accept his love. She stood motionless, feeling the battle rage inside her. In the end, her heart won out. With her back still to him, she said, "I want to believe you, John. I really do. I want a life with you so much, but there is something you need to know first." She shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of the sofa, then turned to face him. Her right hand rested on her swollen belly as she stared into his eyes.

John Doggett had been left literally speechless very few times in his life. Having worked as both a New York City police officer and a special agent for the FBI, he was not even fazed by most things that would stun the average citizen. The sight in front of him, however, effectively reduced him to a stuttering, stammering mess.

"I...uh...how...when...I mean...wow...I'm sorry...I didn't know...how long...Oh, God, Monica...I'm so sorry Iwasn't here."

Monica gave him a half-smile, both amused by his reaction and saddened by the fact that he had missed so much. "I'm sorry you weren't here too, John. But you are now."

"How much longer do you have to go?"

"I'm due in three weeks and one day," she answered with a sigh. "Three weeks too long, in my opinion. I'm more than ready for this pregnancy to be over with."

John took a step toward Monica and lifted a head to her stomach. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the bulge that housed his child.

Monica smiled and took John's hand, placing it on her abdomen. The skin was warm and taut, and he could feel the baby shifting under his fingers. The small movements mesmerized him, and he found himself remembering the earliest days of Luke's babyhood. He was suddenly seized by a deep sense of gratitude that he had returned when he did, and he vowed that this child would always know how loved he or she was.

"So," he asked, "do we know what it is yet?"

"Well, John, it's a baby," she replied with a grin. "That's all I'm sure of. My doctor didn't feel that an ultrasound was necessary for me, and I agreed. We just have to wait and be surprised." A huge yawn interrupted her train of thought, and she blinked her eyes to clear them.

"Mon, I can tell you are worn out. Why don't you take Mulder and Scully's room, and I'll crash on the couch. We can talk more tomorrow. Ok?"

"That sounds good, John. I really am tired. I'll see you in the morning." She smiled at him as she picked up her bag and disappeared into the main bedroom.

John stood there for a moment, staring at the bedroom door, before grabbing some bedding out of the linen closet and making up the couch. Hours later, he was still lying there, staring up at the ceiling. His head was too full of thoughts to allow sleep to come. He was mentally kicking himself for the hundredth time when he heard her calling him with what sounded like fear in her voice. He got off the couch and hurried into the bedroom. The bed was empty, but the bathroom light was on. He walked in to find Monica in what was obviously one of his old shirts, a puddle of water at her feet and unspoken fear in her eyes.

"Holy shit, Mon. Are you ok?"

She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it and bent forward, clutching at her thighs as a new wave of pain hit her. She breathed deeply and managed to gasp, "Baby. I think it's coming."

"God in Heaven," he muttered, as he crossed to her. He held her arm as the contraction ran its course, then helped her into the bedroom. "Sit here, Mon," he said, leading her to a chair. "I'm going to call 911."

John ran into the living room and punched 9-1-1 on the phone. "Come on, come on...answer."

The phone rang twice and a voice came over the line. "911. What is your emergency, please?"

"I need help. I have a woman in labor here."

"What is your location, sir?"

He began to rattle off the address when he noticed the crackle of static on the other end of the phone. He punched the release button a few times, but nothing happened. "Just fuckin great," he thought.

Monica's cry of pain floated down the hall. Abandoning the phone, he ran back to where she sat, attempting to breathe through another contraction. He crouched down and took her hands, looking directly into her eyes. "That's it. Just breathe." He purposely kept his voice low and controlled, betraying none of the fear he felt. He knew that he needed to act calm in order to help her stay as calm as possible. When the spasm ended, he released her hand and checked his watch. This one had lasted for almost a minute, and as best he could figure, it had only been four or five minutes since the last one. Shit. "Monica," he asked, "how long has this been going on?"

"Well," she answered, biting her lip, "it's only been bad for about an hour, but I've had back pains since this morning. I didn't think much about it because I've been having Braxton- Hicks contractions for about a week now, and I didn't want to bother you for nothing." She stared at him, and he saw tears well up in her eyes. "I'm scared, John. It's too early. What if something's wrong?"

John wiped away the lone tear making its way down her cheek and kissed her forehead. "Hey, now. None of that kind of talk. This baby is going to be strong and healthy, just like its mom. He or she is just eager to get out into the world, also like his or her mom." She smiled at that, and he grabbed his cell phone off the dresser.

"What are you doing, John?"

"Well, Mon, the storm knocked out the phones, and there's about a foot and a half of snow outside the window. Even if we could get hold of emergency services, there's no way they'd get here in time. Whether we like it or not, we are going to have to deliver this baby, and I think we need some help," he replied as he tapped out a number. "Dana, it's John. No...no...everything is fine with the house, Dana. I need your help, and I don't have time for questions. Monica's here, and she's in labor. Her water broke roughly ten minutes ago, and her contractions are coming about five minutes apart. Aw shit," he said, glancing over at Monica, who was again grimacing in pain, "make that three minutes."

"Wow. Ok, John, here's what you need to do," said Dana, in what John recognized as her 'Dr. Scully' tone. "First, go into the storage closet in the hallway. There's a plastic drop cloth in there from when Fox painted William's nursery. Get it, strip the sheets off our bed, and put the plastic over the mattress." John hurried to do as he was told, awkwardly tucking the cell phone between his ear and shoulder. "How are you doing, Mon?" he asked as he stripped the bed.

"I'm ok. But I think we need to hurry."

"Stay with me, John," came Dana's voice. "Grab a clean sheet out of the linen closet and run an iron over it."

"What the hell," he thought. "She's worried about wrinkles?"

"The iron is to kill germs, John," said Dana in answer to his unasked question. "Turn it on high and run it over the sheet and a few of William's receiving blankets too." John followed her orders as if his life depended on it. Monica's might. The thought sprang to his mind, and he pushed it away. He didn't have time for thoughts like that. He didn't have time for anything except the crisis at hand. He returned to the bedroom and made up the bed. "Ok, Mon, let me help you lie down now."

"Wait, John. Ask Dana if there's a clean shirt I can wear somewhere around here."

He spoke into the phone. "Dana, where are Mulder's shirts? An extra large one would be best." He reached into the dresser and handed it to Monica, then went into the kitchen to get scissors and thread as Dana instructed. When he returned to the bedroom, he found Monica in bed. She'd pushed the pillows into a pile against the headboard and spread the top sheet over her. Her knees were drawn up, making a tent so he couldn't see her pumpkin shape. Her hair was spread out across the pillow beneath her head.

The strangest feeling came over John. For a split second, no more than the space between one heartbeat and the next, it seemed perfectly right that he should crawl into bed and make love to her. He clenched his fists so hard that his nails bit into his palms, fighting the urge that was so strong, he feared he'd do it before he could stop himself. He called himself a name, but couldn't stop that sensations flooding over him. Having this baby reminded him of making it, a very pleasant process, if he remembered correctly.

John broke out of his thoughts when he saw the telltale frown begin on her face. Still holding the cell phone, he sat down on the bed and grabbed her hand. "Look at me, Mon. Focus on me. Take a deep breath. Now let it out, nice and slow. That's the way, baby. You're doing great."

The sweat was standing out on her brow when it was over. "That was a long one," she informed him.

Dana again spoke in his ear. "How long was it, John?"

He glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed. "A minute and a half."

"It shouldn't be long now, John. Is everything ready?"

He glanced around. "As ready as it can be, I guess." God help him, this was really going to happen. Any minute now, Monica would give birth to a real, live baby, and he was going to have to deliver it. He suddenly felt a bit faint.

A minute later, the frown started on her forehead again. "Take my hands," he said. "Here we go."

She grabbed hold of him as if she'd never let go. She breathed deeply, then started panting. She released his hands and drew her knees toward her chest as he removed the sheet covering her. "Ohhhh," she moaned. "I have to push, John."

"She says she has to push, Dana. What do I do now?"

"Showtime, John. Let her lead the way. Her body knows what to do. You just listen to me."

As if he could do anything else. "Ok, Dana."

John glanced at Monica. He could see her concentration focus inward. She drew a long, deep breath and held it. And held it. All at once, he could see her muscles clench in unison, straining with her efforts to expel the child from her body.

"Ok, John," said Dana. "I need you to check her progress and tell me what you see."

He knelt down as gently as he could and looked between her legs. "I see it," he told her.

Monica began panting again, hard and fast. "Damn, Dana...I see the head." He fought against the knot in his throat. He didn't have time for thoughts or feelings now. "It's coming. Here it comes."

Monica moaned and strained as hard as she could. "That's it," he said. Excitement crept into his voice. "You're doing good, baby. I love you so much. Just a little more. Ok, Dana, the head is out. It's facing down."

"That's fine, John. Make sure the cord isn't around the neck."

He looked. "No. No, it isn't. I don't see it." Relief swept over him. Everything seemed to be going ok. Minutes passed. He waited, unsure of what was supposed to happen next. Monica shifted restlessly. She grabbed at the sheets and began panting once more. She gave another giant push and the child slid into his hands. The baby let out an indignant yell, expressing his opinion of recent events.

"A boy!" he screamed. "It's a boy! Hot damn, Mon, we did it! We have a son!"

He heard Dana yelling on the other end of the phone. "It's a boy, Fox!"

Monica smiled tiredly. "Let me see him."

He held the baby up. "Everything's there. Fingers, toes, eyes, ears. All the right parts in the right places." He was grinning like an idiot.

"Now finish," Dana instructed.

"Right." He managed to sever the cord without fainting. He wrapped the baby in one of the freshly ironed blankets and handed him to Monica.

"He's so beautiful, John," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Of course he is," he murmured, brushing the hair off her sweat soaked forehead. "He looks just like his mother."

"Ok, John," came Dana's voice, "you aren't done yet. You need to massage her abdomen to help expel the afterbirth."

His strong fingers gently massaged her abdomen. He frowned a bit and said, "It feels like she's still having contractions, Dana. Is that normal?"

"Yes, John. Her body is pushing out the placenta."

Almost as soon as the last syllable left her mouth, Monica spoke, with shock in her voice, "John? John, take him. Take him now. I need to push again.

"What?!" He took the infant and ran into the nursery with him. He gently placed the baby in the crib and ran back in to Monica. She was already pushing, and he could see the curve of a head between her thighs. "Dana! There's another head coming out!"

"Ok, John. Just calm down. Do what you just did. She needs you to be strong right now."

John took a breath and let it out slowly. "Ok, Mon, here we go again. Looks like our son had a playmate in there with him. The head appeared as he spoke, and the rest of the body slid out with the next contraction. The baby let out a mewling cry as Jonn held her up for Monica's inspection.

"It's a girl, Monica! A daughter. We have a son and a daughter," he laughed, tears of joy and relief making their way down his face. He wrapped the baby girl in another of the blankets after cutting the cord and handed her to Monica, then retrieved their son from the nursery and nestled him in her other arm.

"Thank you for all of your help, Dana."

"No need to thank me, John," she said with a smile in her voice. "Fox was able to get through to 911, so the paramedics should be on their way. We'll see you all in a day or so. Take care of them, John."

"I will, Dana. Always. Bye."

John glanced over at Monica and leaned into her. The kiss was slow and sweet. John pulled away, licking his lips.

"I missed that, too," he said smiling. He removed the used sheet, replacing it with a fresh one. "You are one of the bravest people I have ever met," he said in reverant tons before headed for the washroom. When he returned, Monica had her eyes closed. He gntly took the babies from her arms and rested them on the bed beside her. They'd be on their way to the hospital soon, but for now he'd let them rest.

Fatigue washed over him. He opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. Damn. He couldn't believe he'd just delivered two babies, both of which seemed to be ok. So many things could have gone wrong. Sinking down onto the cold wood, he quit fighting and let his emotions wash over him, unable to hold them back any longer. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks as his body shook with sobs. When he was drained, he walked back into the house. He made his way to the bed and stretched out beside Monica, their children between them. Within minutes, the little family was asleep.

John awoke to the sound of knocking on the door. He opened it to find two paramedics on the front porch.

"We got a call about a woman in labor here, sir."

"You're a little late, boys. They're right down this hall," he said, leading the way into the bedroom.

The younger, sandy-haired medic let out a low whistle. "You did this by yourself?"

John nodded, a feeling of pride bubbling up inside him.

The older medic was all business. "Ok, let's get them bundled up and to the hospital."

The two carefully loaded Monica onto the stretcher while John followed, cradling an infant in each arm. Soon they were all in the ambulance and heading for the hospital, where they were separated for the first time since everything began. Monica and the babies were sent to the obstetrics ward to be checked out, while John stayed behind to fill out the myriad necessary forms. He impatiently scrawled his way through them, eager to get back to Monica and their children. When he finally walked into Monica's room, he saw her lying in bed in a semi-reclining position, eys closed. Beside her bed were two clear plastic isolettes, each bearing a card on the end. Baby Girl Reyes-Doggett and Baby Boy Reyes-Doggett. Tears came to his eyes as a grin the size of Texas split his face. She had given them his name. Just then, she opened her eyes and smiled sleepily at him. "Hi, John."

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. How are you feeling?"

"Good. Tired and sore, but good. Thank you for helping me through tonight. I couldn't have done it on my own."

"Hey, all I did was catch. You did the hard part." He brushed a piece of hair off of her forehead and looked into her eyes. "So, do you have names for these two yet?"

"Well, I had a boy's name and a girl's name picked out, since I didn't know the sex. I guess we can use them both now," she said with a grin.

"Well, are you going to keep me in suspense or are you going to tell me? No, wait. I'll just call them 1 and 2."

Monica reached out and bopped him on the arm. "Hand them to me."

John carefully placed one baby into each of Monica's waiting arms. "Ok, Daddy. I want you to meet Jonathan James Reyes-Doggett, and Katherine Angela Reyes-Doggett."

John touched the soft little caps on their heads and stroked their cheeks. "Those are some mighty big names for little people. How bout we call them J.J. and Katie for now?"

"J.J. and Katie Reyes-Doggett. Sounds good to me."

"I'd like to make one change though," John said, digging into his pocket. he pulled out a small jewelry box and removed a stunning emerald ring. "I think it should be J.J., Katie, and Monica Reyes-Doggett." He dropped to one knee beside her bed. "Monica, will you make my life complete and marry me?"

Monica glanced down at their babies and back at him with tears in her eyes. "Yes, John. We will."

THE END

Author's notes: This story was actually going to be a short D/R married fic, but John and Mon jumped me and demanded that I write this story, so here it is. I am not a doctor or nurse, and my own son was born many years ago, so forgive any medical mistakes. Feedback is more soothing to me than whale songs.

P.S. The origin of the boy's name is fairly obvious, but chocolate covered Doggett's (or Reyes') go to anyone who can guess where the girl's name came from.


End file.
